tonight the sky is painted melancholy
by keem
Summary: Ichigo's voice is laced with anger, but Orihime knows it isn’t directed at her: he’s mad at himself. And that makes it worse, in a way, because now she knows that he honestly means it when he says he can’t help it. Onesided Ichihime, ulquihime. R&R.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. Lyrics provided by Flyleaf.

--

_i will break into your thoughts  
with what's written on my heart  
i will break, break_

_--_

On the outskirts of Karakura town, two people sit on a grassy knoll, so close that their shoulders are almost touching. Ichigo is watching the sunset – Orihime is watching _him_. The young man beside her looks especially handsome this afternoon, even for him; she thinks that the bleeding red-orange-pink that comes with the dying afternoon sun compliments his already fiery-colored tresses nicely. Orihime has always viewed Ichigo with rose-colored lenses, but even now, he has somehow surpassed her biased perspective of him. He looks positively_ Olympian_.

Orihime has just had the best day of her life.

The past several hours with him have been like a dream. All afternoon her mind had offered excitedly, in a steady mantra – _you're on a date, a date, an actual date with Ichigo Kurosaki_. She still could hardly believe her luck – could hardly believe that he _consented_. Gathering the courage to ask him out had taken an in-human amount of effort on her part – and the fact that he had so readily agreed had assured that she was walking on air the entire time they spent together.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" She wants to lean in close, _really_ touch his shoulders – but she's shy. Ichigo seems a little shy too – he's been blushing this whole time, very deliberately avoiding her eye. She thinks it's cute – and secretly she's relieved that he cares enough about this to _feel_ awkward.

"Oh. Oh, definitely." He grins sheepishly, runs one hand through those unruly spikes of his. "Did you have fun, at least?" His eyebrows furrow together a bit, as though concerned.

"Oh. Oh, definitely!" She bubbles, unconsciously mimicking his earlier statement. "We picked a good weekend to go out, too – the carnival was a lot of fun! Although you looked kinda queasy when we went on that rollercoaster."

"Yeah, I don't think that squid ink pizza mixed well with those loops," he admits with a grimace and rubbing his belly, as though in sympathy. Orihime tries not to stare too hard at the firm abs that she knows exist underneath his t-shirt. When Ichigo casts her a sideways glance and catches her staring, she flushes and turns away.

"You sure do have a weird taste in fine cuisine, Orihime," Ichigo adds, as though In afterthought.

"Is that bad?" Orihime immediately asks, concerned.

"No, not _bad_," Ichigo tries to reassure quickly. "Just different. But I like different."

She smiles at him gratefully, and Ichigo suddenly moves to stand. She watches as he bends at the waist to brush some stray grass off of his pants leg. "Well, we should probably start back. I don't want you walking home in the dark."

"I'm not afraid of anything, Ichigo," Orihime says, as he offers his hand. "Not when I'm with you."

"Even still," he insists with a shake of his head, before pulling Orihime to her feet. His hand is warm and slightly clammy to the touch, and Ichigo swallows. He seems not to know what to do with his hands, afterwards; his fingers twitch in her palm before he releases his hold on her, shoving both hands into his pocket instead.

"C'mon."

She wants to laugh at him, or maybe reassure him; in the end she can do neither, merely catch his eye and smile shyly, encouragingly. And then they set off down the hill together.

--

It's nearly dark when they arrive at Orihime's doorstep. Orihime feels a little bad, because she knows Ichigo is going to have to walk home by himself in the dark. She's not afraid for his safety, but she does wish she could offer him the same courtesy, the same gallantry. But such chivalry on his behalf is normal boy protocol for a date, anyway? She supposes she should just roll with it.

She wants to ask him inside, offer him a drink, but she knows she'll just delay him longer, and by the time he leaves it will be even _later_. So in the meantime they just stand there awkwardly; Ichigo with his hands in his pockets, Orihime by looking anywhere but at his face.

"So. I had fun today," Ichigo says.

"Me too." Orihime nods her head vigorously; watches as Ichigo licks his lips. When it becomes clear that he has nothing else to say, she blurts out suddenly: "So how long did you know?"

Ichigo seems taken aback by the sudden inquiry. "Know what?" he asks, blankly.

"That I liked you."

"Oh." He rubs the back of his head, his gaze stared determinedly at the asphalt beneath his sneakers. "I don't know. A little while. It took me a while to catch on; I'm a little oblivious like that. But then Rukia pointed it out to me and it was like – oh."

Usually Orihime would feel a selfish, niggling hint of jealousy at the sound of Rukia's name. But now, there's nothing. After all, Ichigo is with her right now, and that says something, doesn't it?

This internal reassure makes her feel euphoric and dizzy; she is suddenly seized with the immediate desire to do something rash, something _crazy_. She reaches out suddenly, catches the front of Ichigo's shirt with both her hands, and reels him in like a fish on a line. The last thing she sees before her eyes fluttered close is Ichigo's alarmed expression, the pink blush that's scrawled across his face.

His mouth tastes sweet, and is softer than she imagined. She wonders if she's a good kisser or not – she's never done anything like this before. Ichigo's performance is a little lackluster, admittedly; but then again, this is probably his first time too, and she's gone and caught him completely unawares, so it's a mild offense. They will have plenty of time to practice with each other in the future, after all.

When Orihime finally pulls away, both of them are breathing hard.

"Orihime…" Ichigo starts, and his voice is like music to her ears.

"I've always wanted to do that," Orihime breathes, admiring Ichigo through half-lidded eyes.

"Maybe… maybe y-you shouldn't do that."

She likes how nervous he seems. She's never heard Ichigo stutter, either.

"You want me to take it slower?"

"Orihime…" Ichigo says again, a little sadder, this time. When Orihime's expression immediately falls in response, he winces as though struck. "See, this is what I was afraid of," he murmurs under his breath, looking resolutely down at the floor again.

Orihime has trouble finding her own voice this time. "What do you mean?"

There is a period of silence that stretches between them. To Orihime, it seems like eons have passed before Ichigo can finally find it in himself to speech. He swallows, but Orihime doesn't regard the jarring of his adam's apple with the same reverence that she did before. She is coldly, quietly afraid.

"…Orihime," Ichigo says stiffly, awkwardly. "When I said I'd agree to going out with you, I did it so that we could get to know each other better. You know, gauge things. See if we _could_ work."

"…But?"

"I just don't want to give you the wrong impression, that's all," Ichigo says with a nervous shrug. "You're a nice girl and everything, and I do genuinely like spending time with you. I just don't want you to read too much into things."

It's like her whole world is coming apart at the seams. "So, you're saying you don't like me, then…?" She asks, in a very small, frightful voice.

"Don't say that!" Ichigo immediately tries to rectify, but Orihime knows better than to let herself give into that fleeting surge of hope it gives her. Ichigo reaches out as though to touch her, but then seems to think that this would be the wrong course of action, thus firmly rooting her deepest fear. He doesn't love her – he can't.

"You're a great girl, Orihime. I'm talking great. Oh – oh, don't cry!" This time he can't help himself – he does reach out, pats her awkwardly on the shoulder. This only makes Orihime cry harder.

"Oh, jeez. I'm sorry, Orihime, I really am. I'm such an asshole." Suddenly both arms are around her, crushing Orihime awkwardly against his chest. His embrace is a little too unnatural, too robotic – Ichigo is obviously not used to hugging people. This does little to assuage her already wounded heart.

"You… you just can't force things like this, you know? It's not that I don't think you're ugly… or that you've got a crappy personality, or anything. I think you're fine." This is obviously not what Orihime wants to hear, as she buries her head against his chest and succumbs to despair. "I think you're _better_ than fine. It's just that… I… what the hell do you_ say_ to someone when something like this happens?" Ichigo explodes suddenly in a fury. "'If I could change it, I would?' I mean, I don't like _anybody_ else, really… but that isn't reassuring, is it? Dammit, Orihime, what do you want me to say?"

His voice is laced with anger, but she knows it isn't directed at her: he's mad at himself. And that makes it worse, in a way, because now she knows that he honestly means it when he says he can't help it.

--

When Orihime awakes, tears cling to her lashes. Ulquiorra is doubled over at the waist above her, staring at her quite intently, lips so close to hers that they are almost touching.

"W-what are you doing?" Orihime stutters, as Ulquiorra stands upright again and takes a step back. He nonchalantly slides one hand into his pocket.

"You were having a nightmare."

She sits up and runs her hands through her hair, which has become mussed from sleep. She bites back the familiar sting of tears, not wanting to show weakness in front of her captor.

_I never get what I want, not even in my dreams, _she thinks forlornly. As she watches Ulquiorra, now having retreated to the furthest corner away from her, beside the door, her mind drifts. How long has he been watching her like this, prone and swept up in the dreaming, she wonders.

"I've sent for your dinner. A servant is waiting with a trolley just outside your door." Ulquiorra watches her keenly, studying her features; probably psycho-analyzing her, like he usually seems to do. He always seems so detachedly interested, a curiosity that befitting to a psychiatrist. "I'll send for it." He turns to go.

"Don't bother," Orihime hears herself respond hoarsely. Ulquiorra pauses and casts her an unfathomable gaze over his shoulder. For a minute, she thinks he might deny her; Ulquiorra doesn't really answer to anybody by Aizen, and certainly not _Orihime_, his captive. But he surprises her by bowing his head.

"Very well." And just like that, he's gone, leaving Orihime alone in the darkness with her thoughts.


End file.
